


Early Mornings

by Hella_Queer



Series: Operation KALEIDOSCOPE [6]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Father Son Bonding, Gen, Gunslinger Girl!AU, a sort of companion piece to Late Nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8719903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: The quiet shuffling of feet followed by a loud yawn brings a smile to Jack's face.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nowhere Kids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031611) by [Kahnah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahnah/pseuds/Kahnah). 



 

 

Sundays always meant pancakes. When Jack was a child he would sit at the kitchen table and listen to his mother hum as she cooked. When he lived on his own, the radio hosts talking about traffic and celebrity drama kept him company as he worked over his shitty stove. When the Fakes were formed, he forced Geoff and Ryan to set aside one Sunday out of the month to eat breakfast at the base. They grumbled and complained, but the several stacks Jack would make were all gone by the time they were finished.

  
Jack liked the routineness of it, this constant in his world full of variables. On Saturday he could be jumping from a plane, Monday an endless cycle of interrogating rival crew members, but no matter what, come hell or high water, he was having pancakes that day in between. And now, he had a willing partner to indulge him.

  
The quiet shuffling of feet followed by a loud yawn brings a smile to Jack's face. He flips another perfect pancake and sets it aside just in time for thin arms to wrap around his middle. A warm cheek presses into his back.

  
“Good morning, pumpkin,” Jack says fondly, to which Michael responds with another yawn. He had been up late last night playing XBox games with Ray and Gavin, celebrating after a heist done right. Jack had found him surrounded by root beer bottles, slumped over on the couch in a surprisingly good Geoff impression.

  
“M’never drinking again,” Michael moans, leaning his full weight on his guardian. At thirteen he was getting to be rather hefty, but Jack can still carry him, which is really all that matters.

  
Chuckling, Jack turns to look at him over his shoulder. “You know what really helps with hangovers?” Michael lifts his head, brown eyes squinting up at him, either from a headache or lack of glasses, Jack isn't sure. But the tiny smile on his gunslinger’s face makes his heart swell.

  
“Pancakes?”

  
“Yup. Wanna get the plates?”

  
They have special plates set aside for Sunday's, ones Jack bought at a farmers market near an old safe house. They were big with colorful designs painted on them, with raised edges, which were good for keeping syrup off of the table and floor. Michael is just barely tall enough to reach the top cupboard, getting a red and orange plate before carefully setting them on the counter.

  
“What kind did you make?” Michael hungrily eyes the golden brown stacks of deliciousness that sit to the right of the stove, remembering all of the yummy combinations Jack had made over the years. Strawberry, blueberry, bananas and cream cheese, even bacon! With his guardian there was always something good to look forward to.

  
Jack grins, his eyes crinkling up in the corners. “Chocolate chip.” Michael cheers, truly surprised since they haven't had those in ages!

  
Michael sets up the plates at their tiny kitchen table, wiggles impatiently as Jack pours them juice and plonks down the syrup. They eye each other, silence descending over the pair. Then, two war cries seem to harmonize with each other.

  
“PANCAKES!”

  
They both dig in with vigor, not bothering to cut out the first taste, instead choosing to spear an entire disk and gnaw off a bite. Jack chews with his mouth open, and Michael makes feral dog noises as he hunches over his plate. The whole affair is silly and messy, syrup finding itself on chins and the table.

  
Jack looks at his boy from across the orange juice pitcher, his baby face slowly giving way to muscle and definition. He's already so proud of the young man his gunslinger is growing into.

  
Michael catches his eye and stuffs the rest of his food in his mouth, eyes bulging and cheeks puffed like a chipmunks.

  
They laugh.


End file.
